


Romance Brewed to Perfection

by Keletania



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-22 08:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19664071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keletania/pseuds/Keletania
Summary: 1 anxious baker + 1 misdelivered package = 1 meeting so awkward it's cute





	Romance Brewed to Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> I'm terribly paranoid that I missed an error or two, if that is in fact the case I am literally begging you to tell me! And yes I do know that a frankly obscene number of commas can be found in the work below. Additionally, writing soft things isn't really my go to so I hope this is a fun read!

He wasn't a violent person, but if this orchid didn't straighten up Crowley was going to seriously consider hurting it. Susan was being extra finicky this morning and he was not going to take that lying down! Crowley had begun naming the plants he received as gifts for the person who gave them to him. They were usually given in appreciation for his creations and the visceral response they ignited. For some of these people experiencing a genuine emotion, if only for a moment, was such a rare occurrence that a gift was an absolute necessity.

Crowley certainly wasn't going to complain, as he had a love for the botanical arts as well as the sugary sort. Susan was being particularly difficult and if the plant didn't get its act together, then its namesake who be most displeased when she came in to pick up her weekly half dozen. And if she felt neglected then her husband would appear later that evening and it be _a whole thing_ and the absolute last thing the baker wanted to deal with after a long week was that fiasco. Another glare and whispered threat the stems seemed to straighten ever so slightly. Perhaps there was time to buy a replacement? It was always Susan, just as fussy and disagreeable as its namesake. If only he didn't rely on her high society connections to pay rent. ~~Fuck capitalism, ruining everything it touches.~~

Anthony Crowley, or rather _just_ Crowley, was an up and coming icon in the baking world. He thought dropping his first name would make him sound artistic and mysterious and to a certain degree it did. With orders for custom cakes planned months in advance and cupcakes that always sold about well before the lunch rush could even consider ending and the masses return to the doldrums of corporate life. He had just moved into a trendier neighborhood, closer to the movers and shakers; they had the cash to spare and threw it about gleefully for a silver of happiness in their mundane existences.

If only the storefront didn't cost more than some people make in a year, but one couldn't put a price tag on perfection! And if anyone was willing to pay for the extra mile and Crowley's exacting eye it was this lot. As insufferable as they were. Truthfully as much as he complained to himself and his plants, he did love to bake. Creating something out of nothing, knowing there wasn't anyone out there who could do quite what he could with a spatula and frosting bag, it was a unique thrill Crowley enjoyed chasing. That and the compliments, there were so many accolades that he was at risk of them going to his head, but a heaping serving of low self esteem kept that nonsense in check.

The day began like every other Thursday; he finished frosting a face that was eerily similar to the reference image nearby. There were whispers on the street and mutterings in his five star reviews that he made some sort of infernal pact to gain the skill. Crowley enjoyed these reviews immensely and saved them for rainy days when he was reminded that the customer service industry is awful no matter how exclusive one's clientele.

No customers had arrived just yet, but that was to be expected when another _elite establishment_ was finally open several doors down. **The Cafe** , a place so renowned it earned itself an article and could be referenced without a name. Crowley wasn't entirely sure that it had a name either, there wasn't a sign outside or anything.The Cafe had the most peculiar schedule Crowley had ever heard, with hours shifting seemingly at random. He wasn't sure how the place stayed open. But supposed that the novelty of being one of the few people to grab a cup of coffee described by one commenter as:

"The closest thing to heaven that I'll ever get. I would honestly kill someone if it meant this place stayed open later, but Mr Fell would probably be disappointed and that would suck!!!"

Ah children with their terrible syntax and love of caffeine. They hoped it would fill the abyssal void within, it never does of course but allegedly this particular coffee was the closest thing in all of London. People came in droves and bought as much as they could while they could. His first day open a dejected would be patron of The Cafe ventured over to the bakery and bought a vanilla cupcake. _Boring choice really_ , but the man was so besotted with the flavor fuller and richer than anything he'd ever had before that he became a regular patron.

The young man Newt, _truly an unfortunate name_ , was attempting to make Crowley a website. This began after someone beat him to the punch on an app that tracked when The Cafe was open and sent out a mass notification to registered members. Crowley was wholeheartedly convinced that Newt didn't understand the internet or how it worked, but he was so damn enthusiastic that Crowley found himself incapable of saying no to the offer. ~~It was too bloody awkward!~~

The normalcy of the day was ruined, and thankfully at that, Crowley was beginning to get bored. Not so bored that he'd try to wait in the line next door for a 'little sip of heaven' or whatever the young people called it these days. Someone would show up at some point, _hopefully_! Crowley had never wished he was able to procrastinate orders and commissions more than in this moment.

Just when he was considering temporarily closing his shop to take a nap; it would hardly hurt his bottom line as hungover and coked out executives were unlikely to be awake at this hour, when an unassuming delivery man walked inside. Crowley couldn't even make a half hearted attempt to greet the man, ~~a nap really did sound like the right call he was a bit slow on the uptake this morning~~ , before the man said "package for you". Sighing unnecessarily, Crowley walked towards the door and signed for the small box. The delivery man left without buying anything which was a tad annoying, but Crowley wasn't going to judge too harshly anyway.

Crowley glanced at the clock and realized there wasn't nearly enough time to properly nap, and if one can't nap properly then what's the point? Crowley begrudgingly accepted that he had to remain conscious. A truly painful admittance. Susan would be here shortly, assuming she wasn't too hungover from getting wine drunk while her husband stayed late at the office _for business_. Crowley may not like the woman, but he did enjoy her unexpected rants about the social lives of those in her stratosphere. Gossip was just too much fun, that and Crowley found it was easier to assist his customers’ needs if he knew how awful their lives were at any given moment...and it provided leverage over the truly unruly patrons.

Crowley glanced down at the small box. He was fairly certain he hadn't ordered anything as of late. And he definitely hadn't been drunk enough to go on a depressed shopping spree, his bank would've sent a memo if that was the case. Perhaps another patron wanted to thank him for his work? Staring at the name on the address label the musings of possibility stopped, that wasn't his name. It wasn't even in the same universe as his name! The delivery man must've gotten his bakery confused with The Cafe down the road. Having _cafe_ on the byline certainly didn't help.

Crowley couldn't blame the man however as the exterior of The Cafe didn't really scream _cafe_ at all. It was a bit dingy and run down, the sort of place one expected to see in an alleyway and was pleasantly surprised when food poisoning wasn't the conclusion of the visit. Crowley's bakery on the other hand was top of the line sleek, modern interior. The place sparked and gleamed no matter the amount of sun London was graced with that day. Beautiful bay windows covered two whole walls! The perks of a corner lot and bribes, so many bribes. If someone perhaps wasn't quite up to date on the culinary craze of the area, they were likely to suspect that **Holy Sprinkles** was in fact the infamous cafe. In fact the mistake was made by would be patrons several times a day.

Well, today was as good a day as any to meet the neighbors. Seeing as there wasn't anything too titillating happening on his end of the block, Crowley determined that the universe heard his cry for entertainment and decided to punish him with forced social interaction. There were worse fates surely, like the perpetual boredom before him seeing as Susan still hadn't shown up! Wine drunk was the reality of the day it seemed, hopefully she'd be nicer in her post inebriated state. The Cafe was still open as well; so it was highly unlikely anyone would venture his way yet, sign or no sign one couldn't mistake the line wrapped around the block. Crowley did a quick glance over in the discrete mirror he kept behind the counter, one had to be presentable! Especially when anything else could result in the end of his career with the high and overly judgmental.

Crowley was fashionable in a runway sort of manner. Essentially he looked like the idea of a fashionable person but just a little bit to the left, not quite right but still striking enough to draw the eye. Crowley decided that he might as well remedy the situation himself, there was no point in contacting the postal service when he could walk down the road all by himself. That and he really was terribly bored and just a wee bit curious as to what all went on inside the building. This was the perfect excuse to do some reconnaissance!

Turning the open sign to closed, he placed a set of designer shades over his eyes and ventured outdoors. Today was a sunny day, quite possibly the only sunny day London would see for the foreseeable future. But Crowley didn't really notice, he was on a mission! A mission to upstage his competition, because he knew if he walked inside that caffeinated hovel customers would stare and consider that there were perhaps other perfectly acceptable eating establishments to frequent. Or that's what Crowley told himself as he fixed his hair in the reflection on the exterior windows. Best to make a good impression after all.

The box said ' _Aziraphale Fell_ ' on the tag, and for the entirety of the walk over Crowley was mentally practicing it's pronunciation. He had no intention of making a fool of himself. A-zira-fail no definitely -fell Fell? Strange name but Crowley could certainly relate.

Customers in the line to get inside, hopeful that they would get to join the real line for coffee, let him pass after glancing in fear at the box in his hands. Crowley saw the man in question and froze for a second before he caught himself and began to shove towards the front. The man had a halo of blond curls surrounded a kind face and soft frame that screamed _prime nap location_! Not that Crowley was looking or anything that's ridiculous. He was perfectly content by himself thank you very much. His fellow business owner was anything but sleek, covered in shades of beige, a cross between someone's dapper grandfather and a 1950s professor. The sort of professor students would stay after class to catch alone in hopes of a _private conversation_. Blinking rapidly because he was on a mission, Crowley collected himself and began to walk towards the counter.

This was fine, he could do this. He's a cool, suave guy nothing frazzled him! Crowley continued to lie voraciously as he neared the counter. Customers, some of whom he recognized began to whisper and in some cases stare. Crowley couldn't blame them of course, one didn't wear pants that tight and avoid attracting attention after all. He smirked at the attention and it immediately dissipated when the man before him didn't even notice. _How annoying_! This close, he could tell the smile and warm tone _Mr Fell_ , ~~abort don't use that the thoughts will start up again and it is hardly the time,~~ were fake and irritation was beginning to cloud the man's form. He was clearly reaching his limit and Crowley saw his opening.

Taking a breath to prepare himself and using what he hoped was a suave voice (it wasn't) "Excuse me but I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting. Rather hard to meet your neighbors when they don't keep steady hours and all that."

 _Aziraphale_ , ~~oh that wasn't any better,~~ turned and looked at him. No through him, like the sun blazing into the darkness; Crowley couldn't decide if he wanted to keep his shades or to burnt to ashes. Maybe he was a _teensy tiny bit_ desperate but who could blame him? Running a business and moving said business took up a lot of time, and he was far too fond of sleeping to venture out into the night looking for company.

Clearing his throat and attempting to use a more genuine tone, _the barista_ , ~~still not right this was going to be difficult~~ , replied "Terribly sorry about that dear! The name's Aziraphale, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He smiled, it was small but definitely there. Crowley couldn't process that however as he was still reeling from the ' _dear_ '. Before he said something awkward and made a fool of himself, Crowley shoved the box forward on the counter shouting, "your mail".

 _Fuck_! That was terrible! Preventing himself from cringing took far more effort than he had to spare. The man before him paused momentarily before grabbing the box and upon seeing it's return address called out, "stores closed come again another time".

Customers grumbled and whispered their displeasure, but nothing too serious lest they irk the owner and were prevented from returning. Crowley was going to follow the irritated crowd as they'd expect to purchase some of his goods now that their first choice was no longer available. Crowley wasn't even offended by it at this point, two months of this had made him rather numb. And in honesty it's not like he had that positive of a self image anyway so what more could he possibly lose? He accepted his reality as second best because his customers still had money and they spent it so he could continue to do what he loved. Yet before he could do more than swivel his hips towards the door, _Aziraphale_ touched his arm and he paused. Having permission to think his name made Crowley feel less confused than he had mere moments before.

A soft "thank you" made Crowley return to his original position and glance at the man again. He was ready this time for the man's full attention! Or rather Crowley thought he was, until the look of awe filled longing crossed Aziraphale's face, "You don't know what you've done by returning this to me, please allow me to repay you. Stay for a drink?"

Crowley needed to leave now, he knew that there was a reason for it but the details were fuzzy and he was distracted. Attempting to shrug in a nonchalant manner he replied, "s'nothing just being neighborly, pretty messed up if people hold on to mail that isn't theirs". Well that could've been worse, Crowley blamed the lack of poise on his new shirt it was a bit snug even by his standards. If he was less flustered Crowley might have noticed eyes trailing his torso, but alas that universe is not this one.

Humming a second as he moved around the counter Aziraphale replied, "I really must insist dear boy _,_ you've done me a great service and I simply cannot allow it to go unrewarded."

Crowley was a bit red now, apparently having a professory sort of person call him 'boy' was a _thing_ now. Something to confusingly consider at literally any other time, probably near computer. Thankfully Aziraphale didn't notice the unexpected reaction his words had as he was too busy flipping signs to closed. Turning around he said plainly, "if coffee or tea isn't your fancy I have a bottle of red I've been saving and can bring downstairs".

Alcohol would be a welcome reprieve, but it was 10 am and he did actually have a store to run, unless he didn't? But no Susan would, to be crass 'flip her shit' and Crowley really didn't want to deal with that, the day had been strange enough already. "I suppose I can be convinced to try some of this coffee of yours. I've heard nothing but positive reviews, make whatever you think is best."

"Splendid! Just a minute now!" Aziraphale walked back behind the counter and began to make something that smelled divine and incredibly sweet.

Crowley had very strong feelings about sweet things, being a baker himself; he supposed the drink was either a challenge to his palate or perhaps a peace offering? Taking off his shades, Crowley glanced around the shop; it was cozy! Oversized chairs were clustered around tables of all shapes and sizes, the walls were covered in bookshelves with signs that threatened violence if they were touched. Crowley smiled. This was certainly more interesting than he expected his morning to be. Glancing at the man before him so absorbed in his work Crowley spoke, "Been here long?"

"A few years now, I'm blessed to be able to run the store when the mood suits me. Oh! I suppose you actually have to get back to make more of those delicious delicacies of yours. The thought completely slipped my mind, would you prefer to reschedule? Or I could run something to you, or rather _walk_ something to you I wouldn't want to spill."

"No!" Crowley replied far more quickly than was warranted by the present situation, "It's fine, a bit early for some of the regular lot and making the dejected masses wait for it is a bit gratifying. I may be their second choice but I'm not desperate or anything. And _delic-have you tried some of my stuff_?"

Oh fuck 'stuff' what is he twelve!? He was usually composed and proud of his work, not that anyone would know from this exchange.

"Quite right! A regular of mine often stops by and grabs a devil's food cupcake for me when she's in the area. It's sweet really, poor thing is hoping someone I've gathered is an oblivious buffoon will notice her interest. She can _clearly_ do better. Oh but the flavor really is sinful, an indulgence I really should try to stay away from but I love them so" he said wistfully. Turning around he placed a cup of what Crowley assumed was coffee hidden in a concoction of caramel and chocolate, and then grabbed a cup himself. Smiling softly he continued, "I do hope it lives up to all the praise and your expectations!"

Smirking in response Crowley replied, "challenge accepted!" Taking a sip he made an uncontrolled obscene noise "fuck me that's good!"

Aziraphale choked on his own beverage for a moment while Crowley realizing what he just said wanted to slither under a rock and die there. Collecting himself Aziraphale said "well um right then I am very glad you liked it. One never knows if people come for the mystique or because they genuinely enjoy the experience."

"I understand why beanlover69 wants to kill for you. I thought it was a joke, but I suppose the joke's on me. Ha ha..."

"Oh yes, I knew some people were rather fond of my work and I'm certainly flattered but it has been quite a while since someone reacted so _authentically_."

"Well I'm happy to be of service."

"Indeed. You'll have to come again sometime and I'll whip up something new!"

Realizing the time as he finished the dregs of his cup Crowley begrudgingly admitted that he had to work ~~because life was a capitalist hellscape that required money to live.~~ Sighing, "This was nice, I just might take you up on that, but I've got to be off. Best of luck with your package." Sliding on his shades Crowley headed towards the door, "and feel free to stop by anytime yourself _angel_ I'll have cake waiting for you".

Aziraphale sputtered a goodbye utterly thrown by this exchange. Grinning a bit too wide to be anything but anxious Crowley said, "eh you called me dear and fed me well sort of, anyway fairs fair."

If Crowley exited the shop slightly faster than was necessary, there was no one left that could say anything. He could manage a rather frightening glare if his plants were any indication. There also thankfully wasn't anyone in his head to hear the constant stream of expletives that had begun immediately upon his departure. This was why he didn't go outside or talk to people! For fucks sake every time he thought he couldn't get more awkward he did, it just wasn't fair! He was going to die alone, and he probably should, best to stick with plants less complicated or messy that way.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in years but my decade long obsession with the book Good Omens and now it's subsequent tv show reintroduced the itch. This au started out as a series of random pictures and discussions on discord and it so perfectly fit my fic aesthetic that I kept hoping someone would write it...that didn't happen which is totally alright because it inspired me to do it instead! If there's an interest and inspiration strikes I'd like to extend this into a larger fic where A/C band together against Gabriel the voice of a megacorp trying to buy up property in the area for an office building and Beelz the city official who delights in ruining lives and just might be a food inspector for the irony of it all. Feel free to hmu on Tumblr too, my sideblog is disaster-gay-crowley!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Day Three: Coffee and Cake Pops](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103151) by [Elril_Silverstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elril_Silverstar/pseuds/Elril_Silverstar)




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